The Rose
by Fyyrrose
Summary: Francis helps Alfred with a dilemma. Crack fic/drabble/oneshot.


Title: The Rose

Summary: Francis helps Alfred with a dilemma

Genre: humor/crack/drabble

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own the rose analogy, either. Whoever does should be a comedian!

AN: My guy friend told me the story of the rose before a meeting, and I almost peed myself laughing. Guess I'm not a romantic … anyway, I –needed- to write this rose analogy out. Now every time I see a single rose, I can't help but chuckle. This crack is dedicated to you Jerry.

"_Mon ami_, let me ask you, would you rather have a single rose or a dozen roses?"

Alfred looked at the French country and blinked a few times. "How the hell is that supposed to help me score?" He knew this was a bad idea, but he was at a loss for ideas. Nothing seemed to work! His attempts at being coy, subtle, and flirtatious were not being well received…if received at all!

The country he was trying to woo was oblivious to all his advances. It was time to bring out the big guns: Francis.

"_Mon cher,_ Alfred, answer the question _s'il vous plait_." Francis was amused by the super power. He felt like milking the poor country, but when it came to the matters of the heart, he could only tease so much. The poor boy did so take after his "big brother."

"Fine," Alfred grumbled. "Give me a stupid dozen, duh"

"I prefer a single rose. A single rose, standing alone, is perfect. There are no other flowers to compare it to; therefore, it is perfect. And as the single rose blooms, the petals open, and I can see each and every layer for the complex beauty it is. Each layer is a deeper connection to whom and what makes the rose so magnificent. You, _mon ami_, are like a single rose." Francis slowly twirled a single red rose against his lips and offered the rose to Alfred.

Alfred seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Does that shit actually work?"

"My bed has not been empty in a very long time. You figure it out." Francis smirked at a shell-shocked Alfred.

"Damn…" Alfred pushed up his glasses and readjusted his bomber jacket. "Fuck, you're good."

"I am more than merely good, but when you finally decide to grace my bed again, I will show you how fucking good I really am." The French nation purred seductively.

"Fuck you Francis!"

"That is precisely what I mean _mon cher_." Francis laughed and gracefully leaned back as Alfred tried to swing a punch at his face.

"I'm outta here. Thanks for the advice." Alfred walked out, waved a farewell and didn't stop to look back.

Three days later Alfred finally had the opportunity to sit down with his interest. Their leaders were locked in a room discussing a policy on NAFTA or some amendment or maybe it was the border issue again. Alfred was too busy trying to memorize the words Francis had told him days before.

If this didn't work, it could possibly mean Matt was straight. But Matt couldn't be straight; Matt was rumored to be a whore and slept with every male nation. Last he heard, Matt had ended his relationship with Gilbert, which was why he was striking now: the fire was hot.

Alfred regarded rebound relationships as open opportunity. 'Personal space' and 'limitations' were not words that worked in his vocabulary…unless Ivan was in the room.

Alfred opened the door to shockingly see Gilbert and Matt sitting at a table sipping tea and quietly talking. "What the fuck dude? I thought you were broken up already?"

"Pardon me?" Matt asked blinking at the question. "Who's broken?"

"Whatever man. Makes no difference to me." Alfred said while taking up a seat next to Matt at the table. "So let me ask you, which do you prefer: a dozen roses or a single rose?"

"Why do you ask?" Matt asked the neighboring country.

"Just answer the fucking question man." Alfred sighed. He started to doubt Francis' advice. If Francis made him look like a douche, he would declare war on the frogs!

"Alright, I would take the dozen roses." Matt answered honestly.

"Why's that?"

"Because if you're too cheap to buy me the other 11 roses, we have a problem." Matt stated bluntly.

"You wouldn't want to get a single rose? Don't you think that's romantic?"

"What's the color of the single rose?" Gilbert asked interjecting himself in the conversation.

"The color doesn't matter you asshat, and shut the fuck up, I'm not talking to you." Alfred scolded and directed his conversation back to Matt.

Matt shook his head after he gave it some thought. "Sorry, I am still a dozen roses guy, why do you ask?"

Alfred repeated the speech Francis had told him. Alfred was not prepared for the laughter that ensued. He was expecting some harlequin romance affair happening after his speech, not the tears of mirth he was seeing. Francis was fucking dead.

"Do people actually go for that?" Matthew tried to keep a straight face and was failing miserably.

"Dude! They eat this shit up! Well, that's what Francis said."

"Awesome! I have to try that shit on Ivan, he would drink it up like vodka." Gilbert wiped his eyes and stood from the table. "Who knew to come to you for love advice? Thanks. Later." He walked out of the room leaving Alfred alone with his love interest.

"So none of that shit fucking worked on you?"

Matt quietly shook his head, still not trusting his mouth. He feared the moment it opened he would have peals of laughter emerge, hurting Alfred's fragile feelings. Matt's face was bright red from lack of oxygen.

"Now I'm out of ideas on how to get into your pants." Alfred told him honestly.

"How about you ask?" Matt replied, his laugh echoing off the walls as he remembered the analogy and laughed even harder at Alfred's floundering expression.

Thanks to Alfred, Matt would never look at a single rose the same way again.


End file.
